Conflicting Hues of the Broken Souls
by My Only Sunshine
Summary: Just when you think you hit rock bottom, the punk sits next to you on a crowded train. Little did he know, Numair was in for the ride of his life. And it's just begun...
1. In which we meet the characters

**I know where I want to go with **_Charred Pages at the Sunshine Café_**, but as of know, I don't have a map so I decided to portray Daine as a punk, a way I've always seen her.  
**

**Diclaimer: Da-duh-da-duh-da, why do I even bother? I saw flying uni-pines out my window and decided to reveal my true identity as Tamora Pierce . . .**

**And here we go . . . !**

Chapter 1

The train began to slow. They were underground this time. Numair closed his eyes and tried to shove back feelings of panic. Even after all these years, the dark still bothered him, ever since . . . no, mustn't think of that. He mentally painted a picture of a paradise. Harsh sound, that of screeching brakes, shattered his daydream. He cracked open one swarthy eyelid. A young woman stood outside his window. She was walking to the cart's doors. The train doors opened with a swish and she stood silhouetted against weak yellow light barely conquering infinite blackness. Numair glanced around the crowded cart. He was next to the only vacant seat, soon to be filled by the kind of person he felt he would normally cross the street to avoid. Well, he argued. It wasn't as if he had no reason to avoid people who . . . He began to paint the picture again.

Rattling noise painfully jolted him back to earth. The woman was walking down the narrow aisle, silver chains around her waist clanking like a ghost's. She wore a short grey/lavender/black plaid pleated skirt over torn fishnets and chunky-heeled, knee-high boots that laced up in the front. Her shirt fell off one shoulder. It was black, with a skull on the front, torn in some spots, in others, like her shirt collar, purposefully cut. The white paint that made up the skull was pealing in some places. A strip of white skin showed between her ultra-low skirt and shirt. Her left ear had piercings all the way up her earlobe and cartilage. Her right ear had only three earrings in the lobe and one in the cartilage. A silver hoop punctured the skin of her left eyebrow, and a small stud rested in her nose. Her vibrant red curls fell to her waist, the smoky-grey roots showing a few inches, framing a pale face with soft lips, and extravagant lashes housing large ocean-eyes.

Unconsciously, Numair inched over to put plenty of room between the empty seat and him. The woman sat down with an extra-loud rattle and put her boots on the seat in front. With a loud sigh of disgust, the grandmotherly lady sitting there leaned forward in her seat.

Oblivious, the girl took out headphones and blasted surprisingly mellow music. She jumped up in surprise, slamming chunky heels noisily on the flimsy floor.

"DAMN!" she yelped, causing a young mother to gasp and herd her children out of the cart. All of the other passengers followed in suit. Numair, much to his dismay, was stuck.

Numair quietly moaned and leaned his head against the window. There was a good three hours left on the train-ride. He thumped his head on the smudgy glass, content to suffer a slow death. Still unaware of her surroundings, the girl nodded her head in time to the irregular beat of music only she could hear. Slowly, in a daze, her skirt riding up, she raised her legs, straddling the headrest of the seat in front between her thin white calves. Her feet moved back in forth, eager to dance. Numair stopped, mid-thump. He was fascinated by her reflection. Was that a . . . no, they wouldn't allow that. But it looked so, so . . .

"Excuse me . . . ?" he tapped her shoulder, hesitant to touch the bare skin there. Her bra strap slipped and gently tapped his finger. As if suffering from an electrical shock, Numair drew back quickly.

She turned slowly, deliberately to look at him.

"I, uh, I couldn't help but see the, uh, the, you know . . ." he gestured broadly to her thigh.

She removed one ear of her headset. She squinted, unsure as to what he meant. Nuamir blushed Her eyes lit up as she understood. "Oh, you must mean my tattoo." She pulled the skirt up high on her thin leg. Sure enough, there was a dove there. "I've got others," she said cheerfully. "Want to see?"

"Yes, I mean, no . . . thank you," but she didn't hear. She stood up, spun a graceful semi-circle, her skirt flaring out, and pulled her shirt down over narrow pale shoulders. On each shoulder blade was a small angel wing. She turned to face him and pulled down the top hem of her skirt. On the left hipbone, jutting out from a white stomach with virtually no body fat was the beginnings of a tattoo, the rest still covered by the skirt. Intrigued, Numair leaned forward, eager to see the design. She continued to pull the hem down. With a snap, her skirt dropped to her knees before she caught it. Pale pink in her cheeks must have been her blushing. She ripped one of the many safety pins out of her shirt and swept up her skirt, pinning it to her underwear. She sat down and tried to strike up the conversation where they left off, the color of her cheeks slowly returning to normal.

"Yeah, so, a while ago, this tattoo and piercing parlor had this deal, like 'get two piercings and get a tattoo free' or something, and I totally took advantage."

Numair tried to think of something to say, but all her could think about was this complete stranger's rather nice underwear, and if she had one tattoo for every two piercings. "I would have thought that they wouldn't allow, uh, minors to get that kind of thing . . ."

She threw back her head and laughed. "Minor? I'm definitely beyond 'minor.' I like to think of myself as a . . . a –" The train hit an uneven patch and jostled the riders into silence. The girl put on her headphones again, and Numair resigned himself to staring out the window. Talking with this girl, no, really a young woman had made Numair forget his fear of the dark, and he hadn't noticed when they passed back into open air. He checked the position of the moon, and guessed that there was maybe 2 hours, in the least, left of the ride. He leaned his head against the seat and closed his eyes.

* * *

"Hey . . . ? Um, you awake?" Numair cracked open one eye at the voice. It was definitely feminine, though deeper, quieter and more melodious than the stereotypes perceived. Strangest of all was that he felt the vibrations of sound through the hard, almost bony, pillow he rested on. He straightened, peering groggily around. Sleeping on trains made him feel worn out, and soiled. Someone's head loomed into view. He drew back, startled.

"Hey," It was the same voice from his dreamlike state moments before.

"Hey," he rubbed sleep from his eyes.

"You awake? Good. I need someone to help me with my stuff."

"Um" Numair was totally thrown off my her brazen personality.

"Well, that's just the excuse. I'm totally lost around here. I thought this train went a bit further, but it doesn't. This is the last stop. So, wherever I am, I'm getting off. Here. Now."

Numair laughed. He liked her manner; straightforward in a beat-around-the-bush kind of way. He carried all his suitcases, plus the girl's lightest bag, just for show. She reached up to get her suitcase out of the overhead compartment. Numair stared at her shoulder without seeing for a moment. "Whoa, where did you get that bruise?" His first impression of her was a punk, then just another kid, but now he was wondering if the young woman did have a shady past.

She laughed. Was that a flicker of nervousness in her eyes? "You, my friend, have one hard head. Maybe 10 minutes ago, we took a sharp turn. And your head totally whacked my arm. I've be a vegetarian since I can remember, and I guess I bruise way easy. It can be embarrassing, and gets me in trouble, you know, bruising like that, but it's worth it, saving animals." She smiled again, then stepped off the train. Numair followed.

* * *

A cool air whipped around them. The hem of her skirt lifted, but she didn't appear to notice. She stood stiff, hair flowing out to the side, the wind quickly drying the tears slipping down her cheeks. She tilted her head back, letting the cool breeze slide between crimson locks. Why was he so nice to her? Lord knew she didn't deserve it. _Oh g0d,_ she thought. It was too much too handle. Nastiness, spite, she could take those like cough syrup. It was those that got her to where she was, _who_ she was today. _But niceness?_Where had the Lord gone wrong? A sob bubbled up in her throat. She held it back, but in the end disguised it as a sneeze. She felt the unquenchable urge to run. Stiffening her knees, she pictured an evergreen forest, snow gently falling from the night sky trying in vain to calm herself. She was so exhausted, and had to place to stay. Another sob threatened to some up, but she held it back. She took in a ragged breath, and waited for the _nice_ man from the train to catch up.

**What do you think? One-shot? No-shot? Or shall I continue? I know, this story is basically mine sans the names, the characters are so OOC. Please, review honestly, even if it means flames to rival those of Hell.**


	2. In which we set the tone

**Thanks for the comments. I fixed the first chappie, and you might want to read it again, cause I changed a few things.**

Numair paused at the train door. She was standing stiff, leaned forward, as if eager to run, but held back. He waited, not wanting to interrupt anything. When he saw her slim form relax, he stepped off the train with all the baggage, purposefully making a clatter.

She turned towards him. He felt his breath caught in his throat. She looked so pure, innocent stand there in a pool of moonlight, the pearly hues gently resting on the smoky-brown of her roots, adding a glimmer to her extra-large eyes. His eyes traveled downward, then he caught himself. He forced his eyes back up to her face. She looked . . . what was it? Sad? Scared? Lonely?

"Hey," he spoke with as much calm as he could muster.

"Hey," her voice was impossibly close breaking.

"Uh, lemme call a cab."

"Yeah, okay." Her quiet voice betrayed deep sadness.

He stood on the curb and whistled loudly. A yellow car screeched to a stop. The acrid smell of burnt rubber filled the air.

The silhouette of a head leaned out the driver's seat window. "Ya need a lift?"

"Uh, yes, yes I do. Hold on a moment, please." He walked over to where he left the young woman. She stood with a haunted look on her face. "Hey," No response. She appeared to be in some sort of trance. He snapped his fingers in front of her face and spoke with a renewed vigor. "_Hey_,"

Her eyes opened slowly. She rubbed her eyes, smearing dark mascara under her lids. "Mm. Yeah? Holy crap, was I just asleep? Damn, I must've been."

"I got a cab for us. Here, let me take your stuff."

She followed him back to the yellow car, and watched passively are he loaded the numerous suitcases into the trunk, eyes threatening to close. She yawned and leaned against the warm car. He opened the door and she slid inside. He sat up front, next to the driver.

"Where you twos be headin'?" The cabbie continued to stare straight ahead, face lost in shadow.

"I don't know," Numair leaned over to face the woman. "Where are you going to stay?"

"Hmm? Oh, right, a place to . . . " she yawned. " . . . a place to stay . . ."

"You want to go back to my place?"

The cabbie gave out a low chuckle.

"Yeah, yeah, that'd be great . . . " Her head tilted to the side, forehead against the window.

Numair gave directions to his home as indifferent as he could, knowing that the cabbie had a sordidly understanding smile on his face.

The woman was asleep on her feet. Numair sat her down on the cold stone steps to the ritzy hotel where he lived. For the thousandth time since moving in, Numair thanked whoever was out there that the manager was close to his parents, so he had a deal on the top-floor suite. He lifted out the suitcases and bags, the cabbie offering no help whatsoever. Numair didn't care. He tried to pass on his wealth as much as possible, feeling bad for having so much when so many had so little. He left the cabbie a good deal richer.

She had trouble climbing up the steps in her dreamlike state and the boots. It took a few trips to get all the suitcases loaded into the lobby and the elevator. Numair leaned against glass wall as he pressed the gently glowing button. Sliding down, he sat on a soft duffel bag, eyelids lowering.

A small _ping_ announced the top floor. He stood with his foot against the elevator door as he unloaded all the suitcases. As he stood against the wall, he felt the doors begin to close with a _whoosh_. With a gasp, he realized that the girl from the train was still inside. He watched the "L" above the elevator light up, indicating that the elevator was destined for the lobby. _What will they think?_ He wondered, racing down the stairs. He could only imagine that old Ms. Agawhuthers, another long-term resident, could be out this late. He wondered briefly if he had enough time to use the spiral staircase the proper way. _No, definitely not. _But he wondered if it was just an excuse to slide down the banister, as he often did either very late or very early.

At the bottom, Numair had to take a few dizzy steps – earning an odd look from the doorman – to rid himself of the pleasant careless feeling from sliding down 30 plus floors on the banister. The arrow pointed to the tenth floor, and continued to go down. The doors _ping_ed open again, and Numair hurriedly stepped inside before the doorman could see the punk already there.

"Going for another run?" asked a wistful voice.

Numair looked around. The doorman, usually so timid, met his eyes. He grinned "No, not this time, I've got things to do. You ever try it?"

A sigh. "No, I'm to stand here until sunrise, and by then some people are already awake. I couldn't risk my job."

Numair unconsciously pressed his thumb against the "Doors open" button. He looked, really looked, at the doorman. He didn't seem too old. "Look, give me your hat and coat. I'll stand guard for a bit so long as you take my friend here up to my room. Just have here wait in the threshold."

"Really, you'd do that?" Eyes that had matured far too fast boyishly lit up. "I won't take more than a moment, I swear. Oh, thank you, thank you so much!"

Numair waited impatiently for the doorman's return. He had looked so eager, so happy that Numair felt he should have all the time in the world, but he also didn't want his guest getting into trouble, or worse, that his neighbors call the police.

The doorman finally appeared, out of breath with joy. "That was the most wonderful thing ever!" he exclaimed.

Nuamir jumped up from his slouched-on-the-floor position. "Look, you ever want to do it again, just tell me. I've got the time. Listen, thanks for bringing my friend up to my room. Um, it'd be really great if people didn't know about her . . . No! I don't meant that!" he yelped in response to the doorman's understanding nod and sly grin. Did everyone think he was just going to sleep with this woman? He stepped into the elevator, determined to no longer meet anyone's eyes for the rest of the night. "Until next time." he acknowledged the doorman with a small salute.

_Who would have thought that the night would be so complicated?_ Numair fervently hoped that the woman from the train was waiting outside his door, preferably hidden from his pretentious neighbors. Much to his relief, she was, and he had not misplaced his key.

Entering the apartment, he flicked on the lights, then carried the soundly asleep guest into his spare bedroom. He hovered awkwardly above her sleeping form. Surely it couldn't be comfortable to sleep in those clothes, yet he was hesitant to remove them. He sat in the edge of the bed, the mattress shifting to accommodate his light weight. She rolled toward him along the incline of the mattress. Numair slowly, so as not to awake her, undid each boot and slipped them off. He set them gently on the floor and tucked a sheet around he figure. She was painfully thin and the weather was starting to get chilly.

Yawning, he made his way into his room and slipped out of this clothes, save for a pair of boxers. He thought that he had adapted nicely from tropics to practically arctic weather. Sliding under the covers he emptied his mind and began to doze. A thought came with such force to his mind that he sat up. _There is a complete stranger in my apartment_. But sleep was too powerful. _Does it really matter? _He thought, but he got up and closed his bedroom door anyway. The room became unbearably stuffy and Numair threw open his large windows. A night chill crept into his room. He finally fell into a dreamless slumber. Or perhaps his dreams were far too much so for him to remember.

**I think it was a bit rushed, sorry. I had little fun writing this chappie, but I felt it was necessary. I swear to have a new chappie up tres soon.**


	3. In which stuff happens

**TheBrassPotato, what exactly did you mean with the first chappie having that awkward bit in it? I reread it and all, but I didn't really understand what you meant with the reaction thing. Then again, I am very dead today.**

**Disclaimer: The names are not mine.**

Later, she wondered why she didn't awake with a start. Perhaps it was the bed: rarely had she slept in such a comfortable one. In fact, rarely had she slept in a bed nowadays. Or maybe it was the hour: the sun was stretching over the horizon and birds had begun to sing. Or maybe she was dreaming about the _nice_ man from last night and didn't want to be in a reality without him. She had been drifting pleasantly from sleep to wake and back. The sun trailed a golden finger across her eyelids and she cracked open one eye to totally unfamiliar surroundings. She sat up, her skull tee around her waist. Staring at her small chest, she wondered what had happened last night. Mentally, she did a retake, hugging herself. It looked clean, even her exhaustion: trains always wore out her energy; they left her with far too much time to think and remember. All that was unclear was '_Where am I?' _Silently, she swung her legs out of the bed, rueful to leave it behind. _Beds are hard to come by _she thought as she hitched up her shirt.

Her fish-netted feet padded softly into the kitchen. Still, nothing was familiar. _Peh_, she thought as she helped herself to an apple, pressing the sticker to the side of the cabinet and washing it a thin stream of water. She no longer felt bad about giving herself leave to other peoples' food, but only when there was no other option than breaking in. And she had never stolen any objects. But never had she slept in a stranger's house. She grinned, wondering what tactics she had used to enter this top-floor apartment.

She was careful to lift the chair's legs clear of the floor as she pulled it back. She sat and began to eat carefully, swallowing small bits at a time. With a start, she leapt up and ran to the front door. Perhaps the resident had gotten some mail. There, on the floor, was a small bundle of letters. Stooping, she picked them up and read the address, flipping through the pile. _Numair Salmalin, Numair Salmalin, Numair Salmalin. _Well, that explained one thing. And she _would_ see the nice man again; although it was a tad disappointing knowing that he probably let her in instead of her breaking in. She looked around the apartment, presuming that the closed door led to Numair's room. She sat at the chair again and finished the apple. She was just about to start on a banana when she heard a door creak open. _Numair's up,_ she thought. Briefly, she wondered what to do, then decided to run into the bathroom and pretend to have just gotten up in need of the facilities. She leapt across the room, heading for bathroom. Numair stepped out from the location of her destination, but she realized it too late. She tried to stop, but continued to slide with alarming speed towards him.

Suddenly, she found herself on the floor, a frightened deer look on her face. Numair extended a swarthy hand into her line of vision. She gripped it with both of hers and allowed herself to be pulled up. Apparently, he had been up earlier and, to judge by his wet hair, already taken a shower.

"Morning," he nodded gruffly. Clearly, he was not a morning person. Or perhaps he didn't want her in his apartment.

"Sorry, nature calls." She gasped from shock as she swiftly glided around him and into the white bathroom, closing the door without looking back.

"Towels are in the closet . . ." he called through the door. Shaking his head, he wondered why he always felt like he said/did the wrong thing around her.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror a moment. Blushing, she realized that one side of her shirt had fallen so low that her bra and quite a bit of the skin below her bra was exposed. Pushing that thought aside, she took a cool shower, the water hitting her body in a forceful stream. She stayed in as long as she dared, then stepped out into the thick mat. She wrapped her hair in one towel and her body in another. Staring with distaste at her grimy clothes on the floor, she slipped into the room she slept in for a fresh outfit.

She was surprised at how utterly clean and revived she felt and she let the towels drop to the floor and forced a comb through stubborn curls. Once her mane was sufficiently tidy, she patted it dry and picked out some clean clothes.

She was nervous to enter to rest of the apartment. Summoning up her courage, she walked over and yanked open the door. In swung inward on smooth hinges. She stepped out into the narrow hallway, the artistic part of her longing to stop and study the paintings that adorned the walls, but she forced herself onward, knowing that if she paused she might not be able to work up the courage again.

Numair was in the kitchen, slouching over a bowl of cereal. She suspected he had been there a long time; most of the cereal had dissolved to form a mush with the milk. She stood in the doorway, puzzling what to do. He hadn't noticed her yet. She decided to make an entrance.

She twirled across the tiled floor, scooped up the bowl and said as she dumped the contents in the sink "Let me make you something better, honey,"

Numair sat up. He looked her way and smiled at her, but she was too busy whipping up a batch of . . . something. He was amazed at how fast she worked.

Minutes later, she set a muffin tin in the oven and sat at the table. "Morning,"

He rested his chin on his hand "Morning."

An awkward silence stretched by. She gulped and poured out words faster than she thought of them "Listen, thanks for letting me stay the night. I'll just finish the muffins and then go find some cheap, er, I mean, some apartment. I feel bad and all cause I don't have the money to pay you back . . . I mean, cause I haven't got any money on me, but I do have plenty in my account, of course, anyway, I don't have anything to pay you back now, but you can keep the muffins, cause they're yours and thanks so much for everything and all . . ." she ran out of words and look at the table, embarrassed.

Numair sat for a moment, dissecting her speech in his thoughtful way. She didn't have much money at all, he suspected, and needed a place to live in, if only for a bit. He panicked at the thought of her leaving. "No, no, it's fine. You can stay here a bit. Besides, there is much in the way of hotels and motels here."

There was definite relief on her face, but she struggled to hide it, not wanting to appear too desperate. "I dunno . . . I could always go to a different town . . . well, maybe I could stay, if you wanted me to so bad . . ." she appeared to ponder, while really checking out his reaction from beneath lowered lids. It was just what she wanted to see. He lost all composition in a moment of sheer panic, then covered it up with someone of much practice.

"You are free to stay or go as you please, but I wouldn't mind the company," Numair chose his words carefully, not wanting to seem too needy.

"Well . . . okay," They grinned at each other, both seeing through the other's masquerade and knowing the complete loneliness they shared.

Numair shove back his chair. "Here, let me show you my apartment. And the rest of the building. Then maybe we could go grab lunch downtown and I'd show you around."

She lay in bed that night, listening to the storm raging outside. She had to admit, Numair was loaded in so many different ways. He had a great personality, was rich but was in a school to become a professor so he didn't have to rely on other peoples' money, had a nice apartment and was just a good guy. She really did like him, but he was awfully quiet. She intended to make sure he got out and did something during her stay here.

She thought of something that made her laugh as she got out of bed and knocked on his door.

"Mm?" came the sleepy moan from inside.

"Numair?"

"Hm? What?"

"My name's Daine. Daine Sarrasri."

"Eh, okay. G'night." His voice trailed off into the deep breathing of sleep.

She padded back to her room, but it was a long time before she fell asleep.

**Would you guys prefer if I responded to each comment individually?**

**And, it seems several people would rather have **_Charred Pages at the Sunshine Café_** back instead of this. Let's take a vote. And I swear I will use the results to update.**


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